


(Don't Become) A Stranger Whose Laugh I Could Recognize Anywhere

by jukoist



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Christmas Party, Comedy, Don't question it, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Paul Blart Mall Cop's Alternate Universe Self Paul Hart Corporate Cop, Role Reversal, Romantic Comedy, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Taylor Swift References, Wait did I write a romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukoist/pseuds/jukoist
Summary: Right. How do you even explain to someone that no, it isn’t a pity fuck meant to act as a miraculous skin cure, I don’t believe my dick is an alternative to Accutane, I really do just like you?Following the events of the SM/DP Itsy Bitsy arc, Peter maybe,perhapsgets drunk, and maybe,just a littleFucks Up Bigtime. So now he has to win Wade back. Hey, sucks for him but at least you get some role reversal and holiday angst out of it, yeah?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 144
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic- Holiday Bingo 2020





	(Don't Become) A Stranger Whose Laugh I Could Recognize Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my alpha, my god, and overall best fucking dude [Michael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocalVodkaAunt/works) , to the Bromantic Server in general, who got me back into fic writing, and my many, many brilliant spouses.
> 
> This is for the Isn't it Bromantic Winter Holiday Bingo, and fills the New Year's Eve prompt. [P.S. We hit a blackout!!!]
> 
> Title taken from New Year's Day by Taylor Swift.

Peter Parker typically doesn’t drink.

Typically.

But sometimes, a boy’s gotta let loose.  _ All work and no play makes Jack a dull spider _ , a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Wade informs him. But, like. It’s  _ totally _ a good plan, and not a bad idea at all. Getting drunk, that is. You know, maybe if he painted the town red once in a while – in the way his college-age self never got to – he wouldn’t try literally painting the town red with the blood of spider-pool hybrids.

He figured between alcoholism and murderous rage, alcoholism was a slightly better choice.

“You’re going to make a fool of yourself,” Anna Maria tells him.

“You say that to me every day,” Peter shrugs. “Even though I totes don’t deserve it-“

“I have one word for you. Amasscot,” she retaliates, hands on her hips.

“Oh so  _ now _ it’s a word but in Scrabble the other day-,” he complains, bending down to get a closer look at her face. Faces. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to figure which one of the double figures he was seeing was the real Anna Maria. She rolls her eyes and tries to push his face away. It doesn’t work very well, on account of him being a stubborn asshole with super strength.

“You’re an  _ idiot _ , Parker. You realize this is the company Christmas party, right? Like, every single person here is an employee of yours.” Her other hand joins Peter’s face.He can’t tell if she’s trying to push him or just attempting to resist the urge to crush his skull between her hands.

“They’re drunk too. Drinks for everyone, s’all free. I’m a genius. I’m also gonna get another of those pretty pink drinks-“

“No, you are  _ absolutely not _ -“

“No really, I’m a-okay, fine all around, finer than the Cap’s ass-”

_ Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in~  _ Peter’s suit jacket sang, and he immediately began fumbling for the phone tucked away in his breast pocket. 

“That’s Deadpool!” he explains excitedly, immediately distracted by the possibility of hearing Wade’s voice. Anna Maria rolls her eyes – again – and withdraws her hands.

“Maybe your boyfriend’s chaos and your chaos will cancel each other out,” she huffs. “I’m not holding out much hope, but I am washing my hands of the matter. Please try not to completely kill our stock value.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Peter argues, before answering the call. He’s no schoolboy with a crush, okay? 

“Wade! Hi!” Was that a voice crack? Peter’s voice hasn’t cracked in years. Hm. Maybe he is a schoolboy with a crush after all. There’s an amused laugh at the other end.

“Well, someone’s happy to hear from me.”

“Me? Happy to see you? No way. I don’t even know who you are,” he tries unconvincingly, before smacking himself in the face. “It’s the alcohol speaking,” he adds, because he’s totally not this happy to hear from Wade when sober. Not at all. Nope. 

There’s a brief moment of silence before Wade’s gasping all over-excitedly.

“Are you- Webs, are you  _ drunk? _ ” Wade asks, delighted at the prospect. The bastard.

“No…Totally, totally not drunk, jus’ a liiil tipsy,” Peter mumbles, and his words only slur together a little. He’s very proud of himself. There’s a beautiful laugh ringing out at the other end of the phone, and Peter feels a little bit besotted.

“You should be here,” Peter informs him, because it’s a fact. Wade should be here. He misses Wade’s stupid face and his stupid ass and his stupid tree-trunk sized thighs.

“I should be there, just to witness your drunk ass,” Wade agrees, before pausing. “Wait, where’s ‘here’? Please tell me you’re not climbing up tall buildings and doing web trapeze. Do you need me to pick you up? Drop you somewhere? Don’t drink and web, Spidey.” 

Wade’s voice is still teasing, but it’s sharpened with an edge that says he means it, that he’s concerned even if he’s loath to admit it. The nuances of Wade’s voice are completely lost on Peter, though, who’s just feeling the warm and fuzzies as he lets Wade’s voice wash over him.

“M’okay. What did you, uh, what did you need?” he asks.

“I was just checking to make sure you weren’t spending Christmas all by your lonesome.”

“Did you get kicked out of your own party again?”

“I did not, thank you very much. Didn’t even hold a party this year. And if I did, I’d have invited you, especially if I had known Christmases were an exception to the no drink policy.”

And oh, Peter’s suddenly remembering why he’s drinking, and he’s sad all over again. “Come pick me up?” He asks, voice slightly raw at the edges. “I’m at the Parker Industries party.”

“Wh- I mean, sure, but won’t your boss be mad?” Wade asks, before continuing without an answer. “No worries, I’ll get someone to cosplay you, and act as Parker’s bodyguard. No one will know the difference, and your annoying boss will be safer than state secrets in the story section of a recipe blog.” There’s some rustling over the call indicating that Wade’s getting his suit on.

Oh. Right. He hasn’t told him about the identity thing yet.

“Uhhh, Parker’s already left for home. Past his bedtime, he said,” Peter explains, and oh fuck he’s gonna have to change into his suit too, damnit. He stumbles his way out of the party hall as he speaks, and catches sight of Anna Maria glancing fondly at him and shaking her head. He sticks his tongue out at her, and she laughs.

“Mmm, okay, if you’re sure. No offense, but you really do have the most boring boss in the world. Doesn’t even have skeletons in his closet, huh.”

Ouch.

“He has a few secrets,” Peter protests, and he can practically feel Wade rolling his eyes through the phone. “He does!” Peter reiterates adamantly.

“Sure, shnookums. I’ll be there in ten, kay? Just gotta fight my way past security.”

“What? No!  _ I can let you in _ -” but Wade’s already cut the call, so Peter just laughs instead. 

\--- 

Wade’s evading a taser when the guard chasing him receives a call. The man holds a finger up, the universal sign of please wait, and Wade being the respectful bastard that he is sheaths his katanas. The guard grunts into the phone, frowns at Wade, grunts again, and then just stares. Wade’s considering asking him for an autograph – now that he’s had a few seconds to stare, the guard looks so much like Paul Blart Mall Cop that it’s unreal – before the phone is thrust out into his face.

“For you,” Blart says gruffly.

“Moi?” Wade splays his hand over his chest in an exaggerated expression of surprise, absentmindedly dodging the jab of a taser aimed at his chest as he grabs the phone. 

{We’re famous!}   
[Infamous.]   
{Infamous is when you fuck a-}

“Deadpool. I’m Anna Maria, the Head Researcher of Parker Industries. Your… friend is waiting on the third floor. Please don’t let him do anything exceptionally stupid,” says a crisp voice on the other end. 

Oh. My. God. 

“Am I on spider-sitting duty?” Wade asks delightedly as he ducks down to evade a baton.

“You are. Parker expressly stated that you were to be trusted… As unhappy as some of us are about it.”

Wade squeals.

{Best. Day.  _ Ever. _ }

“Brilliant. I take back every bad thing I said about the man ever. Oh man, I was already sorry about killing him before, but now-”

“You  _ what _ -”

“Whoops, sorry Anne Marie, gotta go collect my boy. Thanks for the gift! Tell Parker I’ll send him a fruit basket or an edible arrangement or something similarly boring that he’ll like!” He quickly cuts the call before handing the phone back to Blart, who delicately tucks it into his front shirt pocket before going back to trying to brain Wade’s head in.

“You know I’m supposed to be trusted here, yes?” Wade gloats. Blart pauses his murder attempts. 

“You’re annoying, and I’m working on Christmas,” he explains matter-of-factly. Wade thinks that it’s an extremely sound argument.

“Fair enough. Continue with your attempted murder, friend,” he says cheerily as he jumps back to avoid a knee to the crotch.

{Maybe Jesus did die for our sins after all! Happy Birthday, J-boy, thanks for the present!}

When Wade finally finds Spidey– Blart had given up somewhere on floor two, handing him a card and a promise of meeting up for coffee (and his real name was Paul Hart! So close, yet so far) – the man is morosely hanging from the ceiling.

“Spider-Babe?” Wade asks, craning his head backwards to stare. The man in question blinks at him a little, like he’s trying to place who he is before he’s met with a delighted “Wade!” and an armful of red and blue.

{Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, angel?}

“You okay?” He asks as he sets Spidey down gently.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m A-Okay!” Spidey promises, swaying slightly. “I’m not even drunk anymore.”

In response, Wade points at Spidey’s pants, which are clearly inside out.

“That’s a fashion choice,” Spidey defends.

“Sure,” Wade acquiesces with a snort. “Just like how occasionally I’m stupid enough to buy one of those fluffy white carpets just to stain it up with my blood. It’s just me trying to get into the dyeing business.”

“You can’t get into the dying business, you’re immortal.”

“No, I meant-” Wade starts, before remembering that arguing with Spidey rarely gets him anywhere and he’ll probably make even less progress with a drunk Spidey. “Fuck it, sure baby boy. No dying here. How’s about we make our way to some bar somewhere? Maybe we could trick Thor into dancing for us again,” Wade suggests, with a waggle of his eyebrows. Well, his eyebrow-space. 

“No!” Spidey frowns. “Why do you want Thor?  _ I’m _ here, and I’m on your list too,” he points out petulantly.

Wade blinks. Then shakes his head. Then blinks again. 

Was that-

“Was that a proposition?” Wade asks. “Was this a booty call, Spidey?” He keeps his voice even, calm, totally not going to freak out at any moment. Nuh-uh.

“It could be,” Spidey suggests, reaching out to grip Wade’s belt, and nope nope no to the puh, no-puh.

“Absolutely not,” he says, stepping away with a nervous laugh. “For one, you're drunk, which is a good enough reason by itself. For two – is that a phrase? Probably not. Either way, for two, you’ve literally never shown interest before. I may be morally gray, but I am  _ not _ into that non-con life, Spidey,” he states firmly.

“It’s not non-con if I want it.”

“You’re drunk. You literally cannot consent.”

“But I consent, really, I’ve been wanting-”

“No you do not.”

“I do. If you would just listen-”

“Nope. Lalalala I can’t hear youuu,” Wade sings, sticking his fingers in his ears.

“Well, how else am I supposed to make it up to you?” Spidey asks as he pulls Wade’s hands away, frustrated. Wade freezes. Something about the words, or the way Peter says them, has his blood running cold with fear. Or was that white hot with rage?

“Make  _ what _ up to me?” He asks, and with the way Spidey gulps and lets go of his hands, he thinks he looks more than a little intense. “Speak,” he demands again, when Spidey just looks away. 

“The- you know, the stuff last year with Itsy Bitsy and the like. The um. Your soul, and your- your skin…” Peter trails off. They plunge into silence, the kind that suffocates and chokes. Peter panics. 

“That’s not to say- I mean I totally wanted to even before, it’s just that things were getting better for you with the no killing and the feeling of, of peace or whatever and maybe some of it was me? Cause even through the stuff with Shiklah- But that’s not the reason, I just meant-” Peter tries, fully aware that he’s making things worse. 

“You absolute fucking asshole,” Wade spits out, cutting him off. “You bag of dicks. What, you think you’ll sleep with me and suddenly I’ll be all happy again, my soul sparkly clean and my skin commercial-worthy? Are we even friends, Spider-Man, or was this all stemming from your stupid sense of duty and your guilt complex?”

“What? No, that’s not what I- and since when have you called me Spider-Man- Wade, please, that’s not what I meant,” Spidey begs, and the voice grates Wade’s skin raw and sensitive. 

“I swear to god, that’s not what I meant. I just meant my own insecurities- that is, it’s not that  _ you _ -”

“If you pull an ’it’s not you it’s me’ right now, I swear to god I will kill you myself,” Wade growls. 

“It’s really not what I meant,” Spidey tries again, voice soft, weak. 

“Whatever. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I’ll get Bain-Marie to babysit you instead,” Wade snarls, and dodges a web attempting to prevent him from leaving.

“Wade,” Spidey pleads, and it wrenches his heart, but if there’s one thing Wade knows how to do, it’s to push through pain. So he does, and he walks away, and he doesn’t glance back, not once. 

\---

Peter jerks awake the next morning on a couch that isn’t his and Wade’s name on his lips. He takes a few deep breaths until his heart stops thudding a tattoo onto the inside of his ribs when he recognises Anna Maria’s home.

Then he groans and flops back down as the events of last night flood back to him.

Fuck.

He knows better than to expect Anna to still be here – and yup, there’s a note on the coffee table telling him she’ll handle work and he gets a day off to be a sad sack – and he rolls over to stuff his face into the armrest.

Apparently his flexibility comes in real handy, seeing that he’s constantly using it to stuff his own foot in his mouth.

God, this is why he never drinks. And why he will never drink again. It’s already hard enough having to deal with his usual bullshit, and now he has to deal with his drunk bullshit too. He grabs his phone off the coffee table with a sigh.

Right. How do you even explain to someone that  _ no, it isn’t a pity fuck meant to act as a miraculous skin cure, I don’t believe my dick is an alternative to Accutane, I really do just like you? _

He bites his lip and sends exactly that as a text. The response is immediate:  _ Fuck off. _

Peter sighs and decides that coffee first, and then he’d call Wade and beg for forgiveness.

When he finally musters up the courage to call, it’s ignored. And again. And again. The fourth time Wade actually picks up, just to throw expletives at him in Spanish and to cut the call again. Peter groans for probably the fifth time that day.

Maybe… Maybe he’d been a bit too self assured. Peter had always thought that it was just a matter of him coming around, that the second he’d built up the courage enough to ask Wade out, the man would gleefully jump into his arms.

And yet he refuses to believe that Wade didn’t actually like him. He just has to convince the man that, yes, he truly does like him. Wade’s been open about his affection for months now; Peter just has to do the same.

Operation Woo Wade Winston Wilson was a go. Hopefully with a name that had an acronym that  _ didn’t _ indicate pain.

In an ideal scenario, Peter would express his love through hugs and kisses and nice words because Wade’s love languages are absolutely physical touch and words of affirmation. 

But. Wade’s a professionally trained merc and Peter – sans spider-powers – is just a dude who donned a suit. There is no way he would be able to find Wade if the man didn’t want to be found, and if Peter chased, then Wade would run.

So he’d have to stick to the age old tradition of courting via gift giving.  _ Dear Diary, what do you get the guy who has everything? _ Well, the first order of business would be to make it extremely clear that he was interested in Wade romantically. Usually, that would mean candy, roses, maybe some poetry… Hm. He had an idea.

\---

When the doorbell rings, Wade immediately begins debating whether the time he’d save jumping out the window would be worth the noise it would make, possibly alerting Spidey and setting him on his tail, or if he’d have time to slap on his teleporter. Because he knew this would happen. Spidey would feel all guilty – whoever thought guilt is a Christian thing is a dumbass, fyi – and there would be a whole awkward apology scene, and Spidey would try to let him down gently and try again with the whole ‘it’s not you it’s me’ bullshit even though it was  _ very clearly him _ and-

“Delivery for one Wade Wilson?” A voice calls out from the other side. A distinctly female sounding voice. Wade blinks, then opens the door. There’s a bored little bubblegum-blowing chick in an Amazon worker outfit.

“You’re not Spider-Man.”

“Uh, no. That probably costs extra, dude. Sign here.” She shoved a clipboard at him, not so much as blinking at his scars. God, he loves bored teenagers. So very uninterested with the state of the world. Or is that just New Yorkers?

Once he’s done signing away his soul to Amazon – he assumes that’s what he’s doing, who the fuck reads the shit they hand you – and has tipped the poor kid like a 100 bucks, he finally gets to dig into his present. He may or may not have almost tripped over a gun in his haste to get to a table.

Hey, it’s not his fault he gets so excited over presents, okay? Sparks the monkey unwrapping instinct. Plus the gift wrap was spidey themed, and the package was huge.

{The box wasn’t too small either.}   
[Heh.]

It… It’s a card. And a bouquet. A candy bouquet. A candy bouquet of candy shaped like  _ dicks _ . A diquet.

Maybe Spidey does truly like him after all, holy shit. He’s almost tempted to call him-

[Do not.]

-but he totally had standards. He would not be won over to the side of friendship by a fucking diquet. Nuh-uh. And if he didn’t throw it away? That was pure… environmentalism, okay? Reduce, reuse, recycle. That’s all.

{Hate to be the voice of rationalism here – no, seriously, absolutely hate it – but aren’t candy and bouquets, like, romantic?}

[Not these types. It’s a gag gift, and that’s all-]

{It’s proof that he knows us! Real flowers die! Why the fuck would we want pretty things capable of death in our vicinity? It would just be a reminder of all the things we can’t have.}

Mmhm, fantastic debate, but, uh… there’s also a card.

_ Wade, _

_ I know I messed up big time. I’m sorry. What I was actually trying to say was that I did feel guilty, but only because I thought that your skin reflected your mental state and I hate the idea that I’m the reason you might be feeling shitty, and that you sacrificed a bunch of things for me. I was also trying to say that I really like you and I know you like me back and I hate that we could have been together sooner but I let my fears and insecurities control me and never said a word.  _

_ This is not a joke. I genuinely fucking like you. And I will prove it to you. I know you think that this is some pity bullshit, or that I’m doing this out of guilt, but the truth is that I’ve been in l*** with you for ages now. I refuse to have the first time saying it be over a card though. Please meet up with me so I can say it in person? _

_ Dick.  _

Huh.

[Huh.]

{Huh.]

Right, what the fuck?

\---

You ever receive a notification that just jumpstarts your heart into overdrive? Like multiple missed calls from your mother figure, or a text from your crush, or just your daily expenditure notification (even though you have the money to spend it but you’re so used to the broke lifestyle)? Well.

[One message from Jerk-pool <3]

Okay. He could do it. He could totally open this. If he could handle supervillains, he could totally open a text from his crush. To whom he just professed his love to. Despite already having been kinda rejected.

Fuck. Rip it off like a bandage. Who knows, maybe he’ll confess back and everything will be sunshine and roses and the Parker Luck will just take a day off. 

_ Today, 11:02 am _

wht

_ Today, 11:07 am _

Seriously??? I bared my heart to you and that’s all you have to say?

_ Today, 11:07am _

so it wasnt a joke

_ Today, 11:08am _

No it was not

I actually have feelings for you

_ Today, 11:08am _

so its guilt

_ Today, 11:08am _

It is not. Can we meet up?

_ Today, 11:09am _

  1. no calls either. not until you stop with the joke



_ Today, 11:09am _

For all that I’m head over heels for you, you make me want to bash my head into a wall sometimes.

No more messages forthcoming. Okay. So maybe he’d give Wade some time, let him get used to the idea…

He’d give him the rest of the day off and then get back to the love-professing. Hey, he never said he was patient!

\--- 

So. Here’s the plan. Wake up at 7am? Check. Make pancakes? Check. Attempt to break into Wade’s house? Significantly less check.

Peter’s plan regarding how to do this had literally been ‘stroll in through the front door’. Or, well, window, but Peter used that window so often it might as well have been the front door. Wade literally always left it open, and Peter had a sneaking suspicion that the man did it for him, so yay symbolism – he was being locked out of Wade’s house and his life.

Peter groans as he paces the wall. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He couldn’t break the window, because property damage and also that would totally wake Wade up which was the opposite of what he was trying to do since he was operating under the loophole that breaking in did not count as meeting Wade as long as he snuck out before the man woke up, and-

_ Tap tap tap. _

Peter looks down at his feet, where someone’s tapping at the window he is currently standing on. Huh.

He moves aside and the window slides open.

“You’re Wade’s boyfriend, arent’cha?” She grins, all red hair and mischief.

“Also Spider-Man,” he agrees, and climbs in when she gestures for him to do so.

“I’m his downstairs neighbour, Miranda. He babysits for me,” she says, holding out a hand. He shakes it. “And totally pays my rent when I’m having a hard time, even though he pretends otherwise. Your boy’s a sweetheart.”

Peter blushes under the mask, heart swelling. He’s so used to everyone telling him that Deadpool’s bad for him – hell, including his own stupid brain – that when people recognise the good in Wade, when people stand on his side, it gives him all the warm and fuzzies.

“He’s… He is, yeah,” Peter agrees with a smile. 

“So, whatcha doing crawling over the window? He forget to leave it open?” She asks. “By the way, I totally sneak a peek at your package when ya crawl over my window. In my defence I’m a single mother and your boy all but encouraged it.” Her tone is casual, like watching his junk over her morning coffee was a totally normal routine of his. 

Peter splutters. She pats his shoulder soothingly, like  _ he _ was the one with the weird reaction.

“Um- You can- I never considered that when I crawl over windows- Do what you like but please never mention it to me ever again,” he finally manages. Is this what hell is like?

She laughs and holds up two thumbs up. “Keep my private fantasies private, gotcha.” Peter considers the benefits of jumping out the window Scott Pilgrim style.

“As for the, um,” he coughs, still red, “the locking out bit, it was on purpose. I kinda pissed him off, and he won’t let me make it up to him. I’m trying to sneak in and leave him pancakes that I made,” he admits, gesturing to the backpack he’s wearing. She nods understandingly.

“He’s a pissy bitch,” she agrees. “Absolutely lost it when I said I didn’t care for Bea Arthur. Wouldn’t speak to me for weeks, only communicated with me through lil’ Irene, he was so pissed.” She walks over to a drawer and rifles through it. 

“Here,” she says, “Catch.” He does as he’s told on instinct, and opens his hand to find a key with a sparkly Hello Kitty charm attached. Oh. My. God.

“He’ll totally know I’m the one that let you in, but there was no way he was gonna do it himself. Say it’s payback for catching the rent last month even when I told him not ta.” 

“Lady, you’re like the second coming of Jesus. Look at my package all you want, holy shit. Hell, I’ll send you HD pics of it myself if this works out,” Peter says, awed. Can he write her into his will? 

“Without the pants?” She asks hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

She laughs and pats his cheek. “I can live with that. Now go get your dumbass.”

“Yes ma’am!” 

\---

Wade wakes up.

Actually, Wade is woken up. By, like, a shower of rose petals set above his head, released from some sort of timed-release web pinata. What the fuck.

“Webs, I swear to God I will shoot you myself, you absolute bastard,” he calls out. He’s only met with his own voice ringing back at him. He groans and kicks his blanket off. Great, he gets a day off and he has to spend it hunting for spiders.

He begins his usual casing-the-joint routine, gun in hand; sure, maybe he won’t actually shoot Spidey, but he’s not above threats and warning shots. Still, his search leaves him empty handed. No Spider-Bastards in sight.

[I thought we closed the window.]

Wade glanced at the aforementioned spider door. Still locked. His door, however…

Damnit, Miranda. He shoots her a text about how her sharing his key around is very much a breach of his privacy rights and he’s totally gonna sue. She sends back a winky face and two thumbs up in return. His response of gun emoji gun emoji gun emoji has laughter ringing out from the apartment below.

{Are we going to ignore the very romantic breakfast of pancakes and bacon and authentic Canadian maple syrup waiting for us?}

[That would be ideal.]

But it would also be rude. And hey, the smell of bacon is heavenly, so he sits himself down. And then he notices it. 

There’s a vase. With a flower. Crafted out of web. It’s kind of sloppy, and some of the petals are slumping weird  _ and holy shit Spidey did this for him _ . Sat down and- and looked up how to crochet a rose or something, made him breakfast, literally showered him in petals- and now that he’s calmed down a bit he doesn’t know how the fuck to respond other than just throwing himself into Spidey’s arms, or maybe possibly crying.

He picks up the flower gently. 

“You’re what broke me, you know?” He tells it. It glints in the sunlight all pretty in response. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with- deal with everything he’s ever wanted dangling over him like a fucking prize because he knows this is just to butter him up, and he knows everything is going to blow up in his face because he’s never been good at that whole self-control thing, but fuck.

He always did make such expensive mistakes. And this is going to cost him everything.

\---

Wade ignores Spidey. Mainly because he’s trying to delay the inevitable AKA Spidey either telling him this whole fucking Win-Wade-Back quest was totally platonic or them actually getting into a brief relationship before it fizzles like a sad can of diet coke left in the sun too long when the man inevitably realizes he deserves better. 

And Spidey in turn… Spidey’s just out there being fucking perfect. Never pushing, never forcing Wade to actually interact with him but leaving him little sappy gifts everywhere he goes, the romantic crap that everyone – including Spidey – says is way too cliché but that he totally melts for. It sucks that Spidey apparently knows him so well.

So he swoons and sighs at every handwritten note, at the printed out poetry and the little plushies and the gifts of expensive alien tech dressed up in pretty bows, but he never lets Spidey see.

But the man won’t stop. He takes his radio silence for what it is – a permission to continue, an admission of fear – and he keeps at it.

The plan works for like, a week, until he comes home New Years Eve to find a bag of kisses and an ‘Eat one at midnight for me?’ note and he just.

Fine.  _ Fine _ . Spidey wins. He’ll give the man a kiss at midnight – a real kiss – and let himself fall in love and sign up for his own special world of heartbreak.

[This is going to hurt.]

{Oh, absolutely. We’re gonna be, like, the living embodiment of Last Christmas.}

[And we’re going to have to watch him break away sooner or later – probably sooner – to build that picket fence life he’s destined for and we’ll shoot ourselves everyday but we still won’t be able to forget him.]

{Maybe if we try that jumping in the volcano plan... Hey, it’s not like we can get any more scarred, right?}

[And you’ll never be able to run away from it all, because you can’t even fucking kill yourself, and you’re not strong enough to step away. Instead you’ll hang around like a pathetic puppy, waiting for any scraps he throws at you, whining and clawing at his fucking white picket fence.]

Yup. All probably true.

But fuck, he’d rather have his heart broken than hurt Spidey by ignoring him. Love, huh? One hell of a drug.

Welp, time to go rip his heart out for fun. See ya on the flip side. 

\---

“No drinking this time?” Anna Maria asks, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.

“We all know how well that went last time,” Peter says with a self deprecating laugh. 

“Yup. Literally all. I think I heard the Board muttering about an intervention, thanks to how you were moping around,” she says, and how sucky it is that she’s telling the truth?

“I fucked things up, huh? I’m- I’m trying to fix things, I am, but I don’t think he wants them to be fixed,” he sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Sure, it’s only been a week and they have spent much, much, longer periods of time apart but the fact that Wade’s angry at him… He doesn’t think Wade’s ever been angry at him before, not like this. 

“Have you considered that maybe he’s not for you? I know literally everyone has told you this, but… he’s an insane merc-for-hire, Peter, and even if he has a heart of gold, it’s all stained up with blood.” Her eyebrows are raised, maybe even judging, and he can’t help but sigh. God, why is this all so hard? Why won’t the universe let him be with his- with his  _ heartmate _ , if those witches were to be believed?

“You should write poetry,” Peter says in response instead, because she doesn’t deserve him being a snarky lil’ bitch when she’s been so understanding this whole time. 

“You’re right that I’ve heard it a million times. And I’ll probably hear it a million more. But I’m not going to stop loving him just ‘cause everyone claims he isn’t good for me,” he argues. “Hell, I think it’s the opposite, actually; I’m not good for him. Remember how he literally had to break his no-murder streak because I went insane and tried to kill someone?” He reminds her pointedly.

She grimaces. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. And god help me, I believe in you and your decisions; even if they seem stupid at first glance, if not straight up batshit insane. Which is why I brought you this.”

She hands him a bag out of seemingly nowhere. He peeks in to see the Spider-Man suit.

“Your boyfriend has just entered the building,” she informs him. “I’ve got a guard friend of his distracting him to give you time to change.” Are his eyes sparkling? He thinks they might be sparkling.

“You deserve a raise. Two raises. All the raises,” he says, and holy shit maybe the universe  _ is _ rooting for him. Wade’s here. Wade’s here and probably wants to meet him and he can’t help hoping-

“I know I do. Now get out of here. There’s only so long Hart can distract him with pictures of his new puppy.”

Peter can’t even be bothered by how confusing that sentence is, that’s how little he cares. He sneaks away to a little private balcony to throw on his mask – he doesn’t bother with the suit because he’s hoping the whole black tie look will earn him a kiss, or at the very least a smack on the ass – and shoots a text to Wade with his location. It’s not long before Wade’s walking in, all stiff and stern in the way he gets when he’s feeling vulnerable.

“You came,” Peter whispers. Wade nods.

“Figures it would be the right time. Started at a Parker Holiday Party, might as well end it at a Parker Holiday Party.”

Pop. That’s the sound of all his hopes and dreams, dying. Peter’s heart immediately plummets, down his chest and straight into the ground. Six feet under, rest in fucking pieces.

“End it? Wade,  _ please _ -”

Wade dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

“Not  _ end it _ end it,” he clarifies. “I mean, not yet. Not until you do, when you figure out you’re too good for me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are and you know it, even if you don’t say it. Some part of you knows, Webs; there’s a reason you haven’t shown me your face. I’m not a person to be trusted.”

And the way Wade says it, like it's a fact, like he’ll never be good enough, has Peter immediately reaching for his own mask to pull it off. Wade grips his hands lightning quick, stopping him.

“Are you an idiot – that’s not what I fucking meant, you don’t need to show me, or the world for that matter because if you recall we’re  _ on a fucking balcony _ -”

Peter shakes his head.

“It’s- There’s masking technology, it’ll look like an empty balcony to an outsider. There’s a ton of nooks here for me to change into my suit,” he says, letting his hands go limp in Wade’s. “And I trust you.”

He leans forward, until he’s got all his weight on Wade, because he loves him and he misses him and he’s just  _ so tired _ . Arms automatically envelop his shoulders, almost instinctively, and he sighs into Wade’s chest.

“I know you don’t believe me. I know you think you’re, you’re not good enough, that I’m the best person on Earth, but have you considered that I’m only that good around you? That you make me the best version of myself, that the Spider-Man you know exists only while you’re in his life?” He asks. Wade’s grip tightens around him, and he feels masked lips press against his hair. 

“You were good long before you knew me.”

“Sure. But I’m better with you. Maybe I don’t need you. But I want you. My life is better with you in it. Isn’t that enough?”

There was a gulp, and Wade was tipping his head backwards, looking up at the sky. The silence that enveloped this time was of the much softer variety.

“…Yeah. It’s enough,” he says finally. Peter smiles.

“I trust you. Let me prove it,” he murmurs, pulling away from Wade’s warm body reluctantly. He grips the edges of his mask, takes a deep breath, and tugs it off.

\---

“Peter? Parker? Peter Parker of Parker Industries Peter Parker?” Wade briefly thinks that he probably sounds very stupid but one, that’s on brand for him anyway and two,  _ Spider-Man is Peter Fucking Parker. _

Spidey – Peter – shrugs in response. “Remember how you complained that I trusted Peter Parker too much? Um, yeah, this is why,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. Wade just stares.

{Ooh, the last time we saw this pretty face up close it had a bullet wound in it.}

Oh, fuck, he nearly forget about that.

“Oh my fucking god I shot you. I shot Spider-Man – I, holy shit, Spidey- ” And then there were firm hands on his shoulders, grounding him.

“Trust me when I say that’s the only reason I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to freak out. Yeah, you shot me. I got better though.”

“Don’t try to turn this into a Monty Python sketch,” Wade warned, and Peter snorted.

“’Tis but a scratch,” Peter said in by far the shittiest accent Wade has ever heard. He couldn’t help but laugh. He was 89.3% sure it sounded hysterical.

“So. You, Spider-Man, are also your own boss, Peter Parker. And I shot you. And somehow you still like me. Like-like me. Want to give me a New Year’s kiss like-like me,” Wade summarized, still slightly in shock. Peter nodded, and aww, was that a blush rising up his cheeks?

[You realize this only puts him further out of your league, right?]

{You can’t even be his sugar daddy. He’s got them dollas,  _ and _ it’s all legal.]

Something like insecurity must have shown through his mask – Peter was always freaky good at telling what he was thinking – because the man was now looking at him all determined, lifting his hands up to the edges of Wade’s mask.

“May I?” Peter asks, and Wade nods, because duh. He may hate his face but he trusts Peter implicitly. Peter gently lifts off the mask and drops it onto the floor.

“I love you,” he says promptly, meeting Wade’s eyes. “I love you so much it’s stupid. I want to kiss you, and go on dates, and have people tell me this is a bad idea just so we can prove them wrong. I want to do patrols together, and quip and snark and banter the whole time, until the criminals just give up cause they’re sick of us. I want to be there for your bad days, just like you’ve been there for mine. I love you, you bastard, and I want to be with you.”

“That is so fucking sappy,” Wade teases, but he thinks the beat of his heart is louder than his words. For once, the boxes are silent, and in their place is a tiny, tine blossom of hope.

“Would you prefer I waxed poetic about how much I want to fuck your tits?” Peter snarks back before immediately turning red. 

“I didn’t mean-” he backtracks, but Wade just laughs, and now Peter’s laughing too. Peter then leans forward to rest his forehead against said tits. “Just say you love me back, idiot,” Peter complains into the red of his suit, and Wade chuckles. 

“I love me back, idiot,” Wade jokes, and Peter’s pinching his side with a snort when he hears drunk voices chant down the seconds to the next year.

  1. _9\. 8._



Wade holds Peter’s face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his.

  1. _6._



“I’m scared,” Wade admits.

  1. _4._



“But I do love you,”  _ 3 _ , “And if everything goes to shit,”  _ 2 _ , “at least I’ll have this.”

_ 1. _

Wade kisses Peter.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh kudos and comments and all that jazz? You can find me on both tumblr and twitter as @beforejuko <3
> 
> Now that you've already read it, I can admit that I was drunk for a majority of the fic writing process. Including right now. Cheers! Oh, and Happy Fucking New Years!!!!! Here's some fic recs for ya as a present from me <3
> 
> [Petey and Wade and other being punched in the face things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/297530) AKA the series that got me back into fic writing. It has Identity Reveal stuff, and brilliantly funny writing, and if the fic author happens to read this, hi, call me, i love you. 
> 
> [The Moist Demanding Chasm of His Mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683497) Big sexy Spidery!Peter fic. So much fang kink. Also dommy Peter. What more do you need?
> 
> [Make Like A Tree And Go Fuck Yourself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992903) Did someone say sadist Peter? Me, I did. featuring pinecones in inappropriate places. _yeah._


End file.
